


Tremors

by bongbingbong



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24178240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bongbingbong/pseuds/bongbingbong
Summary: Garak's hands shake. Julian Bashir's don't.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 13
Kudos: 86





	Tremors

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a conversation with excessiveprepositionalphrases and it gave me emotions and I also didn't need to know too much about Trek lore to write it... so I wrote it! I love anxiety lizard.

Elim Garak did not pine. He did not buzz with anticipation, nor did he fidget and allow himself to become distracted for want of company. This, however, did not stop him from having memorised the work schedule of one Doctor Julian Bashir, and it (although he would never admit this to himself) did not stop him from feeling a small spark of excitement whenever he knew it was break time for the doctor in question. 

On the other hand, Garak told himself, there was no telling when the doctor would really get his breaks. The medical profession didn’t work like that. Furthermore, there was no reason for him to expect a visit. Despite the fact that Julian had taken to dropping in as often as his schedule would allow, Garak could not bring himself to think of it as a routine. To accept such a thing as routine would be to lose something in the spontaneity. The silent part of him, the part that spoke without words, said to accept such a thing as routine would be to feel its loss all the more keenly when it was gone. The spark of excitement was nothing more than adrenaline, and so often it bled out into something closer to fear.

Today though, there was none of that. It was a good day. Doctor Bashir had left right on time, and had hurried down to Garak’s shop to “annoy him” - his own words. Other times, if Garak was with a client, he would fold himself into the couch; the one Garak had privately dubbed the “bored partners lounge”. He usually brought a PADD with him, so he would sit quietly and work, his presence charging the air with something that made Garak’s eyes narrow in concentration and his palms sweat. 

In earlier times, Bashir had tried to pretend to browse, for the sake of keeping things casual. However his restless nature, and funnily enough his delight at trying to touch everything, tended to deter the customers in the shop from doing any browsing themselves. Which was not to say that he had stopped doing it altogether. Right now, the shop was empty. Julian was wandering, occasionally reaching out to run his fingers along a satiny garment, or holding a shirt or a dress up against his slender frame (“beautiful, doctor, but I’m afraid I can tell you now your budget won’t stretch to it”). Garak was trying his best to savour the feeling of the two of them together, but his peace was at odds with the suit jacket he was currently making for a Terelian. He’d never tailored anything for a person with four arms before, and the entire past fortnight felt like one long headache of failed fitting sessions. Now that the end was finally in sight, he was determined to get the sleeves in before he closed up for the day. 

“Oh, where did you get this? This wasn’t here last week,” said Bashir. Garak’s eyes flickered up from where he was focusing on pinning. Bashir was currently carding his hands through a luxuriously shaggy vintage fur that Garak had spent a lot of time trying to source.

“Doctor, I would appreciate it immensely if you wouldn't-”

Garak’s protests were cut short as Julian pressed his entire face into the fur, relishing the soft texture on his face. He hummed appreciatively.

“I wonder, doctor, if you’ll be able to afford to pay for that piece once you’ve ruined it,” said Garak mildly. Bashir turned to him with a sheepish smile, one hand still on the fur.

“Sorry, I just - it’s so soft!”

“Yes, well now that you’ve made that observation, perhaps you’ll busy yourself with something of mine that won’t send you into debt for the next three years if you make a mistake, hmm? There’s some Karemman fleece in the storeroom you can scrunch up and run your hands all over, if you feel that urge too overwhelming to resist.”

There was no reply, and Garak looked up from his pinning, blinking hard to refocus his eyes. The blurry features of the shop wobbled for a moment, and then converged into the image of Doctor Bashir regarding him with a warm, mischievous smile. He seemed to consider him for a moment, and then his smile widened as he made his way over to the storeroom.

“Thanks, Garak!” 

Refocusing was significantly harder this time. Now that he had moved, his tired eyes protested the close scrutiny that the task required and a vague ache began to build behind his shoulder blade, making its way up to the base of his neck as it threatened to turn into a migraine.

“Where is it, Garak? I have no idea what Karemman fleece even looks like!”

Lie. Doctor Bashir had unrolled an entire bolt of it mere weeks ago and hugged it around his shoulders like a blanket.

“It’s the only fabric in there that’s a navy blue, I’m sure you’ll locate it easily enough,” said Garak. He squinted at his work, blinking hard to get some moisture back into his eyes. His tongue stuck out between his teeth as he fought to manipulate the fabric into lying flat.

“Ahh, I don’t know! I can’t seem to find it anywhere. Are you quite sure it’s here? I might need help.”

Another lie. Aside from the fact that he’d been in the storeroom just this morning, Garak could hear the slightly-too-bright tone in Julian’s voice that suggested he was up to something. 

“Doctor Bashir, you may be an extremely competent doctor, but you’ve got a long way to go yet before you can tell me any lies worth my time. Enjoy yourself or don’t, I’ve got a deadline to meet.”

He heard the rustle of Bashir poking his head out of the storeroom (and could see it in his mind too, his green eyes large and round from having been caught in the act). He could hear his footsteps come closer, see the blur of his uniform, the soft one, the one he’d made up especially for the dear doctor’s sensitive skin in the softest fabric he could get away with, the- 

Julian Bashir was sitting on his desk.

Garak let out all the air that he’d been holding in his lungs in one long exhale, and blinked up at him. 

“If you must know Garak, I was just trying to get you up and out of that chair for a little bit. I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re showing all the signs of someone who’s going to have a monstrous tension headache in about, oh, I’d say half an hour?” 

Garak rolled his eyes.

“Really doctor, you worry too much.”

He was right, though. Now that he was aware of it, the ache in his shoulder had hardened into a tight ball of pain. Garak took a deep breath, relaxed his jaw, and set his work down on the table.

“You know, I must be awful to be around right now. Why don’t we pick up this conversation at lunch tomorrow, hmm? I’ll be much better company once I’ve finished these sleeves. Move over please doctor, I need my needle threader.”

To his credit, Bashir moved to accommodate him. Garak took the small metal threader out, plus some thread, and a needle. Even before he held up the diamond-shaped wire, Garak knew he was going to have a difficult time of it. He gritted his teeth as he pinched the end of the thread between his thumb and forefinger, willing the ever-present tremble out of his hand. He was stuck with it forever, but today especially it seemed to be giving him more trouble than was strictly necessary. He licked the end of the thread to stop it from fraying, then looked on in building dismay as it blurred, the tremor in his hand causing it to spasm wildly as he tried to force it through the threader-

“Garak!” 

Bashir’s exclamation caught him off guard, and the threader dropped out of his fingers. Garak jumped up with a noise of frustration, scanning the carpet for the tiny tool.

“Now look what you’ve done! Why are you still here? Your break should be over by now!”

“It is, but I’ve just noticed that a former patient of mine is showing clear signs of fatigue that he seems to be ignoring, and I’m a bit worried about him.”

“I assure you, doctor, that I am perfectly fine. We all need to push ourselves for our work from time to time, it’s a fact of life that I’m sure you’re quite familiar with. If you insist on staying here though, at least help me find my needle threader!”

“Is that the little thing with the-”

“Don’t play dumb with me doctor, I haven’t the patience.”

Garak was too busy scanning the carpet for any sign of the little silver threader to catch the fond twinkle in Bashir’s eyes, but it was there nonetheless.

“Hold on Garak, let me have a look around under the desk, I’m sure it’s just fallen under there somewhere-”

Garak stood there like a statue of a saint, his eyes cast upwards while Bashir knelt on the ground and stuck his head under the table. That spark was building in his chest again - the familiar affection he felt towards the doctor, but under it all roiled a sick, writhing fear. It was far too long a time before Bashir came back up, declaring,

“Nothing there Garak - maybe it’s stuck to your clothes?” Bashir reached out for his outer vest, but Garak smacked the hand away in irritation.

“I can assure you it isn’t. Thank you for your help doctor. Please, go back to work. I’m perfectly capable of threading a needle without your help. I will see you tomorrow.”

Garak settled himself back in his chair, taking the needle in one hand and the thread in the other, carefully avoiding acknowledging the presence of the other man any further. He gripped the thread as hard as he could, his muscles tense all the way along each arm. He bit the inside of his cheek hard as he focused on the tiny eye of the needle, feeling his skin prickle under Julian’s - Doctor Bashir’s scrutiny as the trembling thread-end missed again and again, then the sharp pain as his left hand jerked involuntarily and he stabbed his palm-

“Can’t you just _fuck off!_ ” exploded Garak, smacking both items down on the table. Julian remained unmoved with that irritating, sanctimonious smile still on his face.

“You know, you could just ask for help,” said Julian

“The only help I need is help getting your incessantly irritating, know-it-all face out of my shop!” shouted Garak

“I could probably help with getting rid of that tremor altogether if you wanted. It might make the whole poking-sharp-objects-into-fabric deal a little easier on you.”

“Maybe I’d be fine with all of this if I didn’t have you here distracting me every chance you get! Not that this could ever be the fault of the eminent Doctor Julian Bashir! If you want to fix this “tremor” maybe have a look at the climate settings on this godforsaken rust bucket of a Federaji shit hole! It’s a wonder I’m the only one who feels like they’re freezing to death when you can’t even-”

When had Julian picked up his needle and thread? Garak fell silent as Julian, steady as a rock, carefully pushed the thread through as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

“There,” said Julian, his voice low. The kind of voice you might use to calm a skittish animal. The twist of fear in Garak’s lungs melted into a thick, cloying shame that filled his entire chest. He sighed.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the desk. He jumped when he felt a hand on his own. Julian held his wrist gently, placing the threaded needle into his palm.

“You need steady hands when you’re a surgeon,” said Julian, his voice warm with affection. His hand didn’t let go of Garak’s wrist, his thumb moving across his skin. It was imperceptible to the eye, but he could feel it.

“People would say the same about a tailor, and yet here we are,” said Garak. His fingers closed around the needle and he allowed his eyes to shut, giving himself just this one second of vulnerability before he shifted, and Julian let go. He kept his eyes downcast, not trusting himself, not right now.

“Lunch tomorrow?” said Julian brightly

“Yes,” said Garak, staring at the floor, “yes, I think that would be wonderful.”  
  
“Alright, well, I’d best be getting back. Remember though, steady hands!” he held his up, as if to demonstrate, “at your service, any time!”

“I’ll remember that.” 

He watched through the corner of his eye as Julian left the store, followed the movement of his legs as he made it out the door. Suddenly, a glint of silver caught his eye, a geometric metal shape that had managed to attach itself to the back of the dear doctor’s shoe. The tight feeling in his chest began to dissipate, as Garak began to laugh.


End file.
